Snapshots: Momenta in Tempore
by Sarge1995
Summary: "What counts cannot always be counted, and what can be counted does not always count."- Albert Einstein A reminder to us all, that sometimes it's the little moments that matter the most.
1. Reflections

A/N: Well, hello again to new readers and old. While The Guardians is still going to be continued, I do need to have a place for my mind to wander for ideas, and apparently this will be that place. Basically, you can expect just about anything to pop up in here, haha. So, I hope you all enjoy.

_Tap _

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Shepard's fingers drummed lightly on her desktop, the sound just barely echoing throughout the room. At 0130 ship time, the Normandy was deathly silent. Her rhythm wavers. _Poor choice of words..._ She thinks to herself. There's more than one reason reason the ship is so silent.Damned Collectors...the commander tenses a fist and closes her eyes. She had never enjoyed having to kill another being...but now? Every round that buried itself in one of the four-eyed flying bastards would bring a small rush of satisfaction to her.

She lets her eyes drift away from the blank, unwavering screen of her computer, to rest on the turian sprawled across her bed, over the unbelievably fancy sheets. A smile steals across her face, and her eyes brighten as she sees him in such a peaceful state. They'd all been through the wringer these past few weeks, scrambling to get the team together as fast as possible, and end the damned attacks on colonies. Of course, as soon as she'd found him, he'd practically never left her side since Omega.

And now here she was, leading him into the depths of Hell itself, for all intents and purposes.

Shepard sighs quietly, and rises from her chair, padding softly across the room to sit next to Garrus on the bed. He shifts, and for a moment, she worries she's woken him. But the turian relaxes again, stretching out to make himself more comfortable on a bed designed for the human form, and in no way intended for his use. The thought of what's happened on that bed makes Shepard smirk; if only Cerberus knew just what happened in her bedroom these days... But the bugs had been removed to prevent those kinds of things. She'd seen to that personally.

Tentatively, Shepard reaches out and gently traces the lines of his facepaint, following it down until she reaches his mandible. Leaning in, she kisses it lightly, cupping his jaw. He understood her, like no one else did. Knew that she wasn't perfect, wasn't some hero, that things got to her just like they got to everyone else. And when she needed someone to talk to or to cheer her up, he was always there. Always protecting her, as best as he could. Her hand slid over to caress his scarred mandible.

The past two years certainly hadn't been kind to him.

The young, naïve C-Sec detective had been born again in the dirty, blood-soaked streets of Omega as an angel of death and justice, smiting the wicked and protecting the innocent. And he'd come out with more than a few scars. She tries not to wake him, he'll need his rest for the coming battle. As carefully as she can, she lays down beside him, shivering softly against the chilly air of the cabin. Even though she did prefer to keep the room cool, that was because she was supposed to be _under _the blankets, not on them...glancing to her right, she looks at her sleeping turian again thoughtfully.

To hell with it.

Slowly moving across the bed, she presses herself against him, smiling faintly as his higher body temperature gives her some much-needed warmth. All her life, she'd had to be strong for others, be an impenetrable fortress of a person. Had never thought she'd get the chance to really be with someone else, no matter how much a part of her deep down hoped so. And now...now, she holds her lover tight, dwarfed by him even as he slumbers. People could, and would talk, but she won't care. Shepard winces suddenly. Her mother will _never _let her hear the end of this, though...The wonderful thing is, she can see it all playing out in her head. Introducing Garrus to her family, and her to his...they've just got to get past today, and stay by each others side.

She glances to her bedside alarm clock, and exhales slowly at the numbers. Only an hour left. Back to Garrus. He's still soundly asleep, chest rising and falling slowly. Commander Jane Shepard looks to the set of N7 armor hanging in her locker across the room. The surface gleams, as pitted and battle scarred as it is. The webbing is already loaded with extra thermal clips, and her Kuwashii visor sits next to the set. Her legacy, her life. Shepard wraps an arm around Garrus' waist.

Not anymore.

A/N: So, what's the overall opinion, worth continuing, or not? I hope you all enjoyed this little drabble, regardless.


	2. Peace

A/N: Okay, just for references, this isn't in a storyline with the previous chapter, it's just something that came to mind and wouldn't leave. So, here's another little snapshot. It's a little AU from the canon endings, but for some reason the endings from MGS3 and MGS4 came into my head with ME characters, so I just rolled with it.

_This isn't what she deserved._

That is his sole thought, as Garrus Vakarian limps into the ancient human military cemetery. His dress uniform is crisp and immaculate, an olive green color laced with black, with the bars signifying his new rank as General in the Hierarchy armed forces. The numerous medals and awards across the chest of his uniform gleam in the sunlight as Sol slowly starts to slide beneath the horizon, and the feeling of the briefcase in his hand is cool and soothing. He grunts, the incline of the path bringing a stab of pain to his bad leg. Harbinger's blast had about destroyed the entire thing- shrapnel from the Mako had nearly torn it off, but thanks to emergency medical care, the crew of the Normandy had held him together until Chakwas could get her tools to him.

He could regain complete functionality with few cybernetic implants, but he refuses. Garrus wants this injury. If only to remember her by, every day. Blinking his one remaining eye, he struggled onwards, heading for a small grove of trees, with a single fresh grave and headstone.

_Spirits_...

Garrus feels a low keening noise building up in his throat, but he continues moving, slowly entering the shady area of her resting place. The previous morning, he'd been in this same spot, dead to the world as he stood and watched Shepard lowered into the ground with full honors right after Anderson had been a few dozen yards away. There hadn't been a single being capable of tears who hadn't shed at least a few. Even the sergeant-at-arms for the burial detail had been misty-eyed. A real wood casket, such a rarity in this day for humanity, covered with a tattered Alliance flag had been lowered into the ground as the burial detail fired their volleys from Mattock rifles in precise coordination.

_If this thing goes sideways, and we both end up there, meet me at the bar. I'm buying._

Liara had wept, while Traynor stood beside her, trying to offer her comfort. Vega had stood at attention resolutely, until the casket was completely buried, along with every surviving Marine from the Normandy. Tali had been completely silent, just as numb as Garrus. Joker stood alone, grieving for both Shepard and EDI. Javik had made his brief appearance, and had appeared more respectful than Garrus could ever remember seeing him. The Prothean had laid down his particle rifle and stood next to the tombstone for a moment, bowing his head, then left with Liara soon after. Kaidan had stood next to Hackett, expression mournful, as the overcast sky rumbled softly, warning of an impending storm. As the last of of the Normandy crew left silently, Cortez stopped, and rested one hand on his shoulder with a knowing gaze of sadness. Garrus had nodded, and the other male had left.

The injured turian blinked again, then reached up and rubbed the black piece of fabric covering where his right eye had once been with the back of his hand lightly. And he remembers.

_And if I'm up there in that bar, and you're not...I'll be looking down. You'll never be alone._

A sound of pain escapes him as he slowly lowers to one knee, joints protesting in his damaged leg, muscles flaring up in pain. The second soon follows, and he sighs; a defeated, broken noise as he rests before the stone embedded in the earth, the rifle still propped against it. The briefcase is set upon the fresh soil, and opened with a faint click. Inside, rests a single picture. Taken at Dark Star, right after the destruction of the Collector Base. An aching reminder of what he'd never have again; Shepard and him both drunk out of their minds, her straddling his lap with her arms around his neck and head resting on his shoulder, his eyes closed. Garrus sets it at the base of the stone, and closes his eyes now as well. Reaching up, he violently tears the identification tags from around his own neck, and slowly sets them down as well.

_Never._

A losing battle inside of his head is waged. Slowly, his hand wraps around the grip of his sidearm, pulling it from his hip holster. He laughs bitterly, examining the weapon. She'd disobeyed his order. Had always been difficult with following those, just like him.

She had been wrong, though. He felt more alone than ever before in all his life.

His hand clenched so tightly around the grip of the pistol that he heard his knuckles pop, as he lifted the weapon. The barrel rubs gently against a scarred mandible, and his mind flashes back to the first time she touches his face, eyes full of wonder and care, the soft smile comforting him, easing away his nervousness.

The Hierarchy, the Council, the galaxy all wanted more out of him. Garrus had nothing left to give. He'd done his duty, like a good turian for once. Orders for a return to Palaven this evening are on his omni-tool, ignored. He was tired. His thumb finds the safety, flicks it off. This was his choice. His need. The galaxy would survive just fine without him. The barrel comes to rest against his temple. His body relaxes.

He is at peace.

As the sun sets on the peaceful scenery of a well-kept, sprawling area of grass and masonry, a single, echoing shot rings out.

_"Garrus..."_

_ "Right behind you, Shepard."  
_

_A/N: Posted this, realized I missed a few things...and then realized that this was a lot darker than I'd originally planned. So...yeah, sorry for this dampener..._


End file.
